


Risking it all in a glance

by turps



Category: Magic Mike XXL (2015)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 13:26:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4480940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turps/pseuds/turps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things are changing for Ken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Risking it all in a glance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sperrywink](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sperrywink/gifts).



> If it wasn't for the pact I made with Sperrwink this story would never have been written. Thank you so much for your constant support and encouragement. 
> 
> Huge thanks go to themoononastick who went and watched the movie so she could beta. She remains the best of betas.

It takes Ken all of a few seconds to sense Mike.

Despite his closed eyes Ken can feel him: a prickle against his consciousness as Ken tries to push aside outward distractions, to focus on his breathing and the soothing emptiness of not having to think.

It’s always better that way. If Ken doesn’t have to think he doesn’t have to remember being left over and over. If he doesn’t have to think he doesn’t have to remember Dallas walking away. The Kid walking away. _Mike_ walking away.

If Ken doesn’t have to think he can eventually pull on a smile, these peaceful, empty mornings shoring him up for the rest of the day. But not thinking is impossible when Mike is _right there_.

Resigned to a loss of peace this morning, Ken opens his eyes. 

“I can go if you want.” Mike’s walking slowly, the sound of his footsteps muffled and his shadow shifting as he moves into view. He’s bare-footed, sand between his toes, and Ken pulls in a deep breath.

“No, stay.” Ken drops his hands, flexing his fingers against the ache of holding them cupped for so long. This early even the air feels hushed, the waking world brimming with new potential, and Ken keeps his own voice lowered as he looks up, seeing Mike’s wearing an old pair of jeans and no shirt, his hair sticking up on one side. Right now he looks nothing like the confident, sensual dancer he is. Instead he looks softened somehow, the lines of his body blurred between the shadow and the early creeping sunlight, his skin golden as he folds himself down to the ground.

As much as Ken loves the cocky confidence, he loves seeing Mike this way too. At least, Ken did, before Mike left and never looked back. 

“Does that…” Mike hesitates and pushes his heels into the sand, wiggling them so tiny dunes rise up the sides of his feet. “Does that help? You know?”

Ken’s tempted to plead ignorance, but one thing he’s always been able to do is understand Mike, even without words. “The meditating? It does, yeah. It like, taps me into the world and grounds me at the same time.”

“Maybe I should try it,” Mike says, and manages to keep laughter at bay for all of a few seconds, grinning at Ken’s sceptical look, “What? I could be awesome at meditation.”

“You could,” Ken agrees, but they both know he won’t be. It’s why Ken smiles and says, “But I doubt it.”

Mike shrugs, easily accepting Ken’s words. “But it helps you.”

“It does.” It’s something Ken talks about often, but he still finds it hard to find the perfect words to explain his need for spiritual peace. Now, with Mike sitting watching, it’s impossible.

“Good. That’s good.” Mike’s quiet then, and Ken’s trying to understand why he’s here. Mike never gets up this early apart from stumbled visits to makeshift outside bathrooms, or, on occasions, flashing Ken a smile while heading back to the van after a wild night. 

Actually getting up like this is unprecedented and Ken can’t help a feeling of unease, like yet again something bad is lurking on the horizon. All he can think is Mike is planning on leaving again, taking off before they even get to the convention. It makes a horrible kind of sense and Ken steels himself before asking, “Are you going?”

“What?” Sounding confused, Mike looks directly at Ken. “Going where?”

“I don’t know. Back to your shop, to get your girl back, your new fucking life.” Ken hates how bitterness creeps into his voice and he pulls back control before he exposes any more of his raw feelings. “You’ve done it before.”

“And you punched me for it,” Mike says, the start of a joking smile fading away as he keeps looking at Ken. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Ken can hear the truth in the words, which makes no sense, because if Mike’s not about to admit to going somewhere, there’s no logical reason that he’s here now.

“Good,” Ken says, and pulls on a bright smile that hides his confusion. “Because there’s thousands of dollar bills out there with your name on.”

“You know it,” Mike says, and quicksilver fast, leans back on his hands and thrusts his hips in the air, any soft lines replaced by the dancer who shines with brilliant confidence as he stares directly at Ken. “You and me, we’re going to burn up the floor.”

All Ken can do is nod. He was burned by Mike long ago.

~*~*~*~

“You should sing more often,” Mike says. He’s sprawled in the middle of one of the giant guest beds, legs and arms outstretched, a towering pile of silk pillows close to his head. Frowning, he grabs at a pillow, throwing it toward Ken. “How are you supposed to sleep like this? No one needs that many fucking pillows.”

“They look good,” Ken says, snatching the pillow from out of the air and throwing it back at Mike’s head. “And if you don’t like them, go find a different bed, there’s plenty to choose from.”

“I like it here.” Mike stretches, languid as he arches his back, holding the pose for a long moment before collapsing down with a contented sigh. “I like this bed.”

“I like it too, it’s why I picked this room,” Ken says and takes a half step toward the door. 

“So stay and enjoy it.” Mike sits upright, pillows scattering around him as he moves to his knees, legs spread slightly for balance as he beckons Ken forward. “I don’t bite.”

“But you snore and drool,” Ken says, torn between finding a different room or just staying put. It’s not like he hasn’t slept in the same bed as Mike before. Hell, he’s slept in close quarters with all of the group, often in places much smaller than this plush bed. It’s just --- getting so close would be insane. It would be Ken reminding himself what he’s already lost once and will soon lose again. 

“Your choice,” Mike says and pulls off his t-shirt, the play of muscles in his chest and stomach distracting, so much so Ken has to force himself not to blatantly stare. “But if you go out there be careful, those ladies are primed and ready to go, if they see your pretty face you’re history.”

As if punctuating Mike’s words, from downstairs there’s a sound of wild female laughter, and Ken has to smile, loving that Nancy and her friends are still having fun. But it’s fun he doesn’t want to be a part of right now. Ken’s tired, he’s had a long day and all he wants is to sleep.

It’s that need for sleep that makes him move toward the bed, already knowing it’s a decision he’s going to regret.

“I meant what I said about you singing,” Mike says. Still on his knees he unfastens his belt before rolling onto his back, shimmying out of his jeans in quick practiced movements. “You need to be on one of those singing shows, you know, something like Glee.”

Surprised, Ken just looks for a long moment then says, “You watch Glee?”

“Brooke used to watch Glee.” Mike tosses his jeans to one side, joining the pile already created by his t-shirt, shoes and a few escaped pillows. “You’d be good on that. You could be a teacher, or have an affair with Sue.”

“I could,” Ken agrees, and usually he’d take a moment to think about how amazing it would be to be a regular on a tv show, even if it was only Glee. But right now all he can do is grin as he says, “You seem to know a lot for someone who doesn’t actually watch.”

“It’s information by osmosis,” Mike says, pillows scattering around him as he pulls back the slippery silk cover and moves back to the middle of the bed. Settling down, he lies on his side, propped up on one elbow, looking perfectly at ease as he looks toward Ken. “Come to bed already, it’ll be morning soon.”

“Technically it’s morning now,” Ken says, aware that, outside, it’s already starting to get light. It makes Ken feel tired, and he yawns, hiding his mouth with his hand. “I’m getting too fucking old for this shit.”

Mike shakes his head. “Dancing, singing, making people feel good. You’ll never be too old for that.”

Ken wishes he could agree. While mostly he loves his life, there’s a part of him that’s constantly aware that things are changing. It’s unsettling when Ken thinks about it too long: so he tries not to. But the truth is, soon, Ken’s life is going to change -- he’s going to be completely alone -- and there’s not a thing he can do to stop it.

Even when he rationalises to himself that the change will be positive, that it’s time he moved on -- that the Kings of Tampa moved on -- it’s hard to believe completely. It doesn’t help that Mike’s here now, a reminder of another thing that’s going to end. Laid out on the bed, Mike is all graceful strength, long lines and intent interest -- someone Ken’s wanted and lost once, and is about to again. 

“Come to bed,” Mike says then, rolling a little to give all of a few inches of more room. “I’ve warmed things up for you.”

“You always do,” Ken says, taking solace in the part-joke as he quickly strips off his clothes and carefully folds them onto a nearby chair. Left standing in his boxer briefs, Ken considers a bathroom visit, all too aware of how his teeth feel sticky and his breath slightly stale. But truthfully, the lure of sleep is too strong, and it’s not like Mike will care.

Decision made, Ken climbs into bed, enjoying the way he sinks slightly into the soft mattress, and how the sheets smell good, like flowers and not stale grease, unwashed bodies and cream.

“Good yeah?” Mike rolls back onto his side, and the light is just enough to show how he quickly looks Ken up and down, his gaze lingering slightly over his stomach and chest. Confused, Ken pats over his ribs, checking if he’s spilt something that’s stuck, like a jelly bean or chip that’s caused Mike to take notice. 

There’s nothing, and all Ken can do is pass the look off as another of Mike’s recent peculiarities, like how he keeps turning up at Ken’s morning meditation sessions, and is now choosing to share the same bed.

“Seriously, though. Don’t stop auditioning, you’re meant for more than stripping.” Mike’s words are low, serious as he looks directly at Ken. “You’ll have your name in a movie credit one day.”

“I hope so.” Ken takes in the words, Mike’s optimism something Ken needs to hear after years of trying out at auditions and not getting far. “I love dancing, and love making people feel good, but sometimes….”

“You need more,” Mike cuts in, and rests his hand on Ken’s side for a brief moment. “You’ll make it. I know you will.”

All Ken can say is, “I hope so.”

~*~*~*~

Sat on the step of the van, Mike groans theatrically, wincing a little when he flexes his knee. "I shouldn't have tried that last twist. I think my body is starting to give out."

"You're getting old, man," Ken says, sadly shaking his head. "You'll be getting grey hair soon, and those big old-men ears."

"Old-men ears? The fuck?" Tarzan says, pulling at his own earlobe. "I'm old and I haven't got old-men ears."

"That's what you say, you probably keep your hair that long to hide them." Tito grins, reaching out as if he's going to lift Tarzan's hair to check the state of his ears. "Your ears probably look ancient, all wrinkly and gross."

"You'll be wrinkled and gross if you keep that up," Tarzan says mildly, batting Tito away as he looks over to Mike. "How's your knee now? If it's still acting up this idiot can go find some frozen peas."

"Some rest and it'll be fine." Mike leans forward, poking at the swelling over his knee.

"Well it's not going to be fine if you keep doing that." Exasperated, Ken pushes Mike's hand away and kneels on the ground, getting comfortable as he brings up his hands. "I'm going to give you some healing. It'll help."

"And on that note, I'm off," Tito says, clapping Ken on the back. "I love you man, but watching you healing is boring as shit."

"And I'm going with him," Tarzan says. "No offence."

"None taken." And there's not, Ken well aware that his friends more tolerate his beliefs than actually believe themselves. But that's fine, Ken's got enough belief for them all.

Waving Tito and Tarzan away, Mike brings his attention back to Ken, watching his hands. "So what are you doing? Channelling your mystical healing powers?"

"Something like that." Truthfully Ken can't really explain completely, he just knows he has an energy inside of him with the potential to heal. "I'm mostly sharing my energy, it's spiritually healing and I've plenty to share."

"Well that's very generous of you," Mike says, and Ken looks up, suspecting Mike is making fun somehow. But he appears perfectly serious, frowning slightly as he keeps watching Ken's hands. "My knee's getting hot."

"That's the healing energy, it means that it's working." Pleased, Ken moves his hands, picturing his energy sinking deep into the joint. "You'll still have to be careful for a while, but this should help."

"It is." Mike shifts a little, sliding on the step so he's slightly reclining. "My thigh muscle is a little tight, too."

Ken moves his hands higher, trying to gauge the best place to stop and focus his healing. "Here?"

"Yeah, that feels good," Mike says, and he sounds content and sleepy, his eyes half closed and the silence that stretches between them easy. "But maybe a bit higher."

Caught in the moment, energy pooled in his hands, it takes Ken a few seconds to realise a bit higher means he's going to end up with his hands over Mike's crotch. "Bastard." Ken sits back on his heels, scowling at Mike. "There's nothing wrong with your thigh."

"Busted," Mike sits, pulling at the fabric of his shorts, unrepentant as he says, "But you were helping my knee."

"I should leave you to suffer." And Ken's tempted to do just that, to stand and walk away so he doesn't have to deal with what has to be teasing, but doesn't feel like that at all. It can't when Mike looks so solemn -- and annoyingly good as he sits wearing Ken's flowery board shorts with his leg propped up on a stack of old crates. Still, Ken has to make sure and he says, "Did Richie put you up to this?"

"Richie pulled the thigh strain thing too?" Mike asks, sounding delighted. "Did you fall for it?"

"Nearly." Ken has to smile as he remembers back a few months, the laughter of the others as Ken almost got a handful of Richie's dick. "It bumped into my hand when I was only halfway up his thigh, it kind of ruined the moment."

"I wish I'd seen that," Mike says, enjoying the shared memory. "He must have thought his luck was in."

"Yeah," Ken agrees, and wishes Mike had been there too. But he hadn't been, and Ken can't dwell on those thoughts and feelings. Deliberately letting the negative energy go before it builds up again, he brings up his hands and says, "Want more healing? But only your knee."

"Spoilsport," Mike says, and then, "Please."

~*~*~*~

Lying prone on the lounger, Ken listens to the lap of water in the nearby pool, a cool breeze against his skin as he focusses on the world around him. It’s like everything is suddenly bigger, the moon huge above him, the universe pulling him outwards until he’s nothing but a minute spec in time. 

It’s a feeling Ken sinks into, any worries lost as he allows his mind to drift -- then sits up abruptly when someone yells and cold water splashes against Ken’s chest.

Heart pounding, Ken looks toward the pool, where his idiot friends are laughing, all of them still fully dressed despite jumping into the deep end.

“Come in for a swim, the water’s beautiful.” Tarzan ducks his head into the water and emerges within seconds, rivulets of water cascading down his chest as he shakes his head so droplets fly out and shimmer around him. As sights go it’s both calculated and striking, and Ken’s unsurprised to see a group of three women are standing nearby, blatantly staring as Richie strides through the water towards them.

“Ladies.” Richie grins and uses his arms to push up on the poolside, something that clearly displays the muscles in his arms and shoulders, and how his shirt is soaked through, the fabric clinging and almost transparent in places. “Care to join us?”

They say yes, of course they do. Ken can tell that they want to have fun, and he loves seeing how animated they are as they kick off their shoes before impulsively jumping into the pool.

“It’s cold,” one of the women says, but she’s laughing as she does so, slicking her hair back, her skirt floating around her hips. “I need to be warmed up.”

“I can do that,” Richie says, causing a mini wave as he thrusts his hips, repeating the action when all of the women applaud.

“He’s good at that.” Tarzan approaches the group, Andre and Tito close behind, and for a moment everyone is looking at Richie, who grins wide and twirls, ending the move by ripping open his shirt, the buttons sinking out of sight as he poses, chest exposed and back arched.

As moves go it’s perfectly executed, and Ken would whistle and clap along with the women, but someone is approaching, someone wearing heels that tap sharply against the tiles.

“Ken.” It’s no surprise when Rome appears. Despite the killer heels, she’s wearing what Ken suspects is Rome-casual, just impeccably tailored pants and a black vest over a white t-shirt, as always, looking cool and collected as she gracefully sits. Perched on the end of Ken’s lounger, she smiles as she looks toward the pool, unflinching when Tito attempts a somersault that splashes water in all directions. 

“He does them better on land.” Ken sits too, drawing up his legs, and can’t help his own smile when Tarzan lifts up one of the women, holding her high in the air as she grins wide and water streams from her body.

“They’re having fun.” Rome sounds approving as she keeps watching. “But you’re not.”

It’s not what Ken expected her to say, and he hesitates a moment before he replies, “I’ll go in later.”

“You should,” Rome says, and turns her attention from the pool so she’s looking directly at Ken. “They want a good time, and you’d help give them that. Or, you could leave them to it and see Mike.”

At first Ken doesn’t take in what she’s just said. But when he does he splutters, unsure what to say. There’s no way he can know how to respond, not when he’s only known Rome for all of a few days. But what Ken does know is, everything Rome says is calculated, and there’s no way this is a casual comment. 

“I’ll probably see him later, or tomorrow at the breakfast buffet,” Ken says, deciding all he can do is deliberately misconstrue what she’s just said. “Or maybe when I meditate, he turns up then sometimes.”

“Exactly,” Rome says, as if Ken’s just proven a point. “He never does that. Mike doesn’t meditate, he doesn’t get up early. Doesn’t that tell you something?”

“That he’s been drinking too much coffee?” Ken suggests, and he’s still got no idea where Rome’s going with this. The whole short conversation makes no sense, especially when Rome herself is involved with Mike. 

“You blind, infuriating creature,” Rome says abruptly, making no attempt to soften the words. “I’ve no patience for this. You need to go out and take what you want. The world won’t give it up on a platter.”

“And what do I want?” Ken asks, his confusion starting to be replaced by annoyance, because, the fact is, Rome doesn’t know him at all. “I’ve always worked for what I wanted. I’ve been to thousands of auditions, gone to classes. Hell, I’m still stripping to make money. I don’t expect anything to be given to me.”

“And yet you don’t go after the thing you want most,” Rome says, unflinching against Ken’s anger. 

“Because he doesn’t want me.” They’re words Ken didn’t expect to say, and already he regrets them, but not enough that he doesn’t add, softer, “And he’s leaving soon, anyway.”

“He is,” Rome agrees, and then, “He does that unless you give him a reason to stay.”

“He left you, too?” Ken says, even though he knows it’s not his question to ask. 

“We left each other.” Rome stops talking, and Ken’s sure that’s all she’s going to say, but then, “We were both different people back then. It wouldn’t have worked long term, but damn, we were good together.”

Ken can easily believe it, both Mike and Rome are people who shine bright, and together they’re dynamite, both commanding attention and giving it back in return. 

“But….” Ken trails off, caught between the question he wants to ask and knowing it’s none of his business. 

“But?” Rome parrots, toying with Ken before she says, “But we’re together now. If that’s what you want to say? No, no we’re not. I like him, he likes me, we had fun together and scratched an itch, but that’s as far as it goes. The same with Zoe before you bring her up.”

“I wasn’t.” It’s a lie, and they both know it, but Ken needs to regain some control of this conversation. “But it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t want me.”

“I think all those crystals have fried your brain,” Rome says, snapping her fingers in front of Ken’s face. “Or made you go blind. Open your eyes and see what’s there because I won’t be doing this again. I’m not here to hold the hands of pretty boys as they pine for what they think they can’t have.”

“So why do this now?” Ken asks, unsettled and wishing that Rome had walked past and not stopped. “You don’t want Mike. You don’t know me. It doesn’t make sense.”

“I don’t want him but I like him, and I hate seeing two oblivious idiots miss what’s in front of their faces,” Rome says, running her fingers down Ken’s chest. “And you make people shine, so I like you too, if I didn’t you’d have been thrown out of the door the first time I saw you.”

Ken looks down, shivering as Rome stills her hand, her fingertips resting just under the waistband of his pants. Pulling in a sharp breath he says, “I don’t, I mean….”

“Oh honey, no.” Rome grins, lowering her hand a tiny bit more. “You couldn’t handle me. But come back in a few months with Mike, maybe I’ll reconsider.”

With those words she stands, her attention moving away from Ken to the people in the pool, where one of the women has her legs wrapped around Tarzan’s waist, holding on as he dances and her friends clap and encourage.

“Queens having fun, just as it should be,” Rome says, and turns back to Ken. “Unlike stupid boys who lead into everything with jokes. Tell him. Before it’s too late.”

Ken says nothing. Just watches her go.

~*~*~*~

“I’ve got glitter in my hair,” Mike says, shaking his head so multi-coloured glitter rains onto his shoulders. “That’s not right.”

“It matches your aura now.” Ken glances up, flashing Mike a grin before going back to his painting. “And better glitter than exploding cream.”

From across the room, Tito mock shudders. “I’m still scarred from that. “I’ll be washing cream out of crevices for days.”

“And how does that differ from any other day?” Mike asks, then turns his attention to Ken. “I’ve got a glitter aura?”

“Sparkly like a fucking rainbow,” Ken says, making no mention that in actuality he sees Mike’s aura as a brilliant red mottled with grey. “I’ve a hint of a rainbow, too. All healers do.”

“Yeah?” Richie says, straightening from where he’s been making plans on a sheet of paper, and too late Ken realises he’s taken a miss-step with this conversation. “So you’re both rainbows. It figures.”

It’s a joke, Ken knows that it is, and that Richie hasn’t got a bigoted bone in his body. It still niggles, hitting too close to a truth he’s trying to keep hidden.

“We’re both fucking amazing rainbows,” Mike says, cutting into the uncomfortably long silence. “And you need to finish those plans.”

“I could construct a sex sling in my sleep,” Richie says dismissively, but he also goes back to his plans, frowning as he crouches over the paper that’s rolled out on a table. 

“How’s it coming?” Mike walks close, walking around Richie so he can stand next to Ken as they both look at the painting. It’s one Ken’s been working on for hours now, but it’s not working. No matter how hard he tries he can’t copy what’s in his head onto the backdrop. 

“It’s not,” Ken admits, and drops his paintbrush onto the newspaper covered floor. “It’s not right.”

“So do without it.” Careful of the wet paint, Mike moves so he’s in front of Ken, blocking the failed painting. “You don’t need props. Just you and your voice.”

“Strip everything back.” It’s a tempting thought, but Ken’s also nervous when he thinks about performing alone, props something he’s become used to when appearing on stage. “Everyone else is using them.”

“But you don’t need them,” Mike says, his sincerity obvious. “Your voice is fucking great. _You’re_ great. It’s all that you need.”

Ken takes a step to the side so he can look past Mike and take in the half-painted backdrop. It’s still wrong, and abruptly, Ken makes a decision. “Fine. No backdrop or props.”

“Great.” Mike holds up his hand for a hi-five that Ken fumbles, already thinking about what he can sing. “Any ideas?”

“I think, maybe.” Lost in thought Ken starts to pace, newspaper crumpling under his feet as he does so. “I don’t know, I need the right song, and there’s so many. I could get it wrong and….”

“And nothing.” Mike reaches out, grabbing hold of Ken’s shoulders, holding on so he’s got no choice but to stop moving. “You’ve got this.”

“You have,” Tito agrees, and Ken sees that everyone in the room has stopped working and are looking his way. “You’ll already know what to sing.”

“Yeah,” Richie says, his plans rolled up and abandoned. “Tap into those fucking mystical powers you have. To do you know what.”

“All right, Yoda light.” Ken attempts a frown in Richie’s direction, but it’s difficult when his friends are all being so supportive, even if it’s in their own weird ways. “And the fuck? Since when do you even talk that way?”

“Since he booty called Nancy last night,” Tito says, thrusting his hips lewdly in Richie’s direction. “The fucker kept me awake for hours. I had to watch the end of the movie with subtitles.”

“Or you could have left the room,” Richie says, body rolling as he mimics jerking himself off as he gasps before adding, “Or did you get off listening while looking at Leia? Oh baby, let me use my lightsabre on your beautiful body.”

“Fuck off.” Tito flips Richie off, but makes no attempt to deny what’s been said, something Ken takes in for future teasing occasions. 

“He’s right, though.” Still holding onto Ken’s shoulders, Mike steps back a little until he’s an arm's reach away. “Not about Star Wars, even if Leia is fucking hot. But knowing the song, yeah. You have to believe in yourself.”

“I do,” and Ken does, at least usually. It’s just lately his confidence has taken a slight hit, when he’s faced with a future that’s far from certain. 

“Yeah? Good.” A long moment, and then Mike’s moving, sliding in close so he’s pressed close to Ken. Surprised, Ken remains still, unsure what Mike’s doing, but enjoying the feel of his body as Mike moves his hips so he’s minutely grinding against Ken. “You should feel good about yourself.”

“I do,” Ken repeats, and it’s instinctive to match his movements to Mike’s, both moving together, Mike’s face close to Ken’s, so close he can feel every breath. His heart racing, Ken’s whole body prickles with sensation, and all he wants to do is grab hold of Mike and never let go.

But he doesn’t, he can’t. This is happening too fast and all Ken can do is clench his hands to stop reaching out as Mike pulls back, and, without a hint of a smile turns and walks from the room. 

Left alone, Ken feels cold, regretting every word he’s never said as Richie shakes his head and says, “Damn boy, that’s cold, he all but gave you an engraved invitation.”

Which is true, and all Ken can do is regret not reacting, that and make himself a promise, that next time the move has to be his.

~*~*~*~

“We did it!” Tarzan yells, a stray dollar bill fluttering from out of his pocket. Grabbing it he grins wide and ceremoniously pushes the bill under the waistband of Richie’s pants. “We fucking did it.”

Instantly Richie strikes a pose, arms tensed so the muscles stand out under his t-shirt, then relaxes, leaving the bill where it is. “We did do it, we fucking rule. The Kings of Tampa going out with a bang.”

“It was a good ending,” Tito agrees, tipping his bottle in a silent salute. “The best we could do.”

That’s something Ken agrees with, at least, in a professional sense. There’s no way he’ll ever better the feeling of tonight. The energy in the room spiking ever higher, the women riled up and receptive to every movement and glance. Ken’s never felt so powerful, and as ends go it was perfect -- except for one thing. 

Tomorrow they’ll head back to Florida somehow. Andre, Rome and Zoe will go their own way and eventually, it’s inevitable that Ken will end up alone, his energy depleted and his friends all scattered. That is, unless he acts now. The problem is, even knowing how Mike feels, making a move feels impossible. It means Ken exposing himself to be hurt once again, to show his soft underbelly to someone who could easily walk away in the future, and Ken doesn’t know if he can go through that again.

Except, if he doesn’t act Ken’s going to be alone and hurt anyway.

Reminding himself of that, Ken gathers his courage and pushes himself off of the railings so he can get to Mike and quietly say, “Can we talk?”

At first Mike seems reluctant, and Ken’s sure he’s made a mistake, but then, Mike drains his drink, hands his empty bottle to Andre and says, “Yeah.”

“Can I believe what I’m seeing? Is our pretty Ken finally making a move?” Richie gasps, his hand flat against his chest in mock shock. But he’s also smiling, encouragement there in the way he holds up his bottle toward Ken, none of them making an attempt to follow as Ken starts to walk away from the boardwalk.

At first he isn’t sure where to go, or to say, and the silence is uncomfortable in a way it hasn’t been for a while. Hating the feeling, Ken gathers his courage, pushes aside the negative energy that’s coiled inside and says, “I’m really fucking attracted to you.”

“That’s it? That’s your grand gesture.” Mike sounds more amused than surprised, something that continues when he says, “I kept getting up at ass o clock for you, I watched you meditate for hours, I even looked up raki for you.”

“Reiki,” Ken corrects, and then, “You researched it?”

Mike shrugs, “I read an article in a magazine when we stopped at a gas stop.”

Ken has to laugh, especially when Mike is so utterly unrepentant. “It counts I guess, thank you.”

“No need for that,” Mike says, tucking himself against Ken’s side as they keep walking. “I wanted to know about what you like. I’m not into all that mystical shit myself, but you are, so it matters.”

“Thanks,” Ken says again, loving that Mike’s made the effort. Knowing that makes this whole situation feel easier, a sign that Mike really does want more than a friendship. “And yes, that’s my grand gesture. It was either that or dance naked along the boardwalk with a rose between my teeth.”

“I’d have paid to see that,” Mike says, his mouth pulled up in a small smile. “I like showy, but this is good too.”

“Good, because it’s true.” Needing to touch, all Ken can do is briefly squeeze Mike’s hand, all too aware of the bustling crowd that surrounds them. “It always has been, but you had Brooke and I got married and then…”

“I left.” Mike finishes the sentence and abruptly stops walking, waving an apology to the man who almost collides with their backs. “I’m not sorry for leaving because I needed to do that, but I am sorry for not talking to you about it. I should have, it was fucking shitty of me, but it won’t happen again.”

Ken wants to say, ‘promise?’, but stays silent, unwilling to make Mike make that commitment.

“I mean it,” Mike says, and then, uncaring of being seen, moves in for a kiss. 

It’s a kiss that’s brimming with confidence, soft at first and then harder, Mike taking command in a way that feels perfect. It’s everything Ken ever imagined and more, this reality better than any show as fireworks colour the sky and explode overhead.

His eyes closing, Ken loses himself in the feel of Mike pressed hard against his body, the sounds he makes as he licks into Ken’s mouth, how he looks: unguarded and open, love, affection and friendship apparent when they finally separate, Ken’s lips tingling as Mike smiles and says, “I’m really fucking attracted to you, too.”

And Ken knows with certainty it’s true.


End file.
